


Breeder

by Feygan



Category: Man of Steel (2013)
Genre: Alien Biology, Breeding, F/M, Kryptonian Codex, Multi, Smutty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:56:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3854902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feygan/pseuds/Feygan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kal-El is not human. He is the continuation of the Kryptonian species and love does not play into it. There is only genetic compatibility and instinct.</p><p>"<i>A lifetime of being different, then for a brief moment there had been more of his kind. There had been a rich and ancient history, a bloodline back to the beginning of a species that he had been part of. And then he'd killed them all.</i>"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> There was no return to the Phantom Zone. There was only ships exploding in space and the end of an ancient species.

General Swanwick: "What are you smiling about, Captain?"

Captain Carrie Farris: "Nothing, sir. I just think he's kind of hot."

General Swanwick: "Get in the car, Captain."

Captain Carrie Farris: [still smiling] "Mm-hm. Yes, sir."

.

_I am the last of my kind_. The thought echoed, dark and terrible. It wasn't something he could run away from. It was a truth he had to face.

From earliest childhood he'd known that he was different. He was a single solitary being, a changeling living amongst fragile humans. And though his parents had loved him and cared for him, he'd always felt strange in his own skin.

A lifetime of being different, then for a brief moment there had been more of his kind. There had been a rich and ancient history, a bloodline back to the beginning of a species that he had been part of. And then he'd killed them all.

He was alone and lonely, and he'd done it to himself. He was the last member of his people because he'd killed all the rest. To save his adopted species, he'd wiped out the other Kryptonians.

He'd committed genocide, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel. Because at the moment all he felt was empty.

Clark went through the motions of living his life. From arranging an apartment to starting his new job, he kept himself moving and hoped that someday it would all mean something.

He wanted to believe that what he'd done was right. But he was afraid that all he'd ever know was regret.

_But they gave me no choice_ , he thought. _They were monsters. Monsters that felt like home_.

It felt hollow. The idea that he'd done what he'd had to do wasn't enough. They had been like him, and even though they'd been killers--monsters--they'd smelled like him, had his strength, and something in his blood had called out "I am here. Take me with you."

Lying on his bed in his closet-sized apartment, Clark pressed his hands over his eyes and tried not to think.

He hadn't been able to look at his mother after his initial relief that she was all right. Some quiet part of him ached with blame--he'd killed his own kind because of her. She was his mother and he loved her as such, but some quiet corner of his soul resented her--hated her--for what he'd been forced to do.

All his life he'd dreamed of being normal. Then, when normality was right in his grasp, he'd been forced to throw it away to protect the human race. The same humans that were now vilifying him in the news with speculations of when he would turn on them all. "When will the _alien_ go crazy like the others and attack? How do we kill _it_ when it turns on us?"

He was disgusted and afraid and so damned _lonely_ , but there was nothing he could do. He'd killed the last of his own kind to protect the ungrateful humans. And if there was one thing Martha and Jonathan Kent had taught him, it was that once something was done it could not be undone. Broken things stayed broken no matter the amount of regret.

He was the last of his kind. He was the only Kryptonian in the universe.

* * *

Somewhere in his blood, a process began. Bubbles built and burst, releasing chemicals into his bloodstream. Venom sacs flexed and filled. Vestigial pheromone glands bulged and swelled as hormones flooded his system.

Kal of the House of El, Last Son of Krypton, slept unaware as his body changed around him.

A rich scent flooded the air, an enticing chemical cocktail that would be impossible for the primitive humans to resist. It seeped through the small apartment, permeating every nook and cranny, soaked itself into the furniture and the walls.

Kal-El slept and changed, becoming something terrible and beautiful: A breeder.


	2. Chapter 2

There was something strange happening. Everywhere he went, people looked at him, following him with their eyes until he felt like his skin was going to creep right off. He had no idea what was going on, but he didn't like it.  
  
From earliest childhood Clark had been told not to draw attention to himself. He'd learned the shame of being different from the other children--the odd looks and the wariness, the empty loneliness of being strange--but he'd learned fear from his parents.  
  
" _They'll take you away_."  
  
" _They'll hurt you_."  
  
" _They'll never let us see you again_."  
  
The unnamed _They_ had been the nightmare fodder of his youth. Not knowing who they were or what they'd do to him had only made things worse. _They_ would take him from his parents and cut him into tiny pieces simply to find out what made him tick. _They_ would hurt-- _kill_ \--Mama and Papa to get him and it would be all his fault.  
  
He was a grown man, but still those fears of discovery and pain lingered. If he stepped out of line, _They_ would come and get him.  
  
So to have eyes everywhere scraping across his skin, it was like living in a nightmare. It took everything he had not to hunch his shoulders and to pretend that everything was all right. He forced himself to keep walking toward the Daily Planet and kept his back straight and his face forward.  
  
To show fear was to show weakness, and _They_ would come for him if he panicked. _They_ would see that he was abnormal and strange, inhuman in the way that he showed his fear.  
  
Even knowing that he had near godlike power in comparison to the humans around him, the fear of discovery ran deep. He didn't just have to fear for himself, but for his mother and the people in his life ( _Lois_ ).  
  
There were people that would be hurt if he was outed as a Kryptonian. They were leverage that could be used against him, and no matter how fast he was, he couldn't be everywhere at once. There was no way for him to keep everyone he cared about safe.  
  
The best thing he could do was to fly under the radar. He was distant and unreachable as Superman. And he was mild-mannered and low-key as Clark Kent. He refused to make a spectacle of himself.  
  
So why was everyone looking at him? Why did peoples' heads turn in his direction when he walked past? Why did it feel as if everyone had suddenly developed x-ray vision and they were all trying to look through his clothes?  
  
Clark hastened his step, hoping to get into the relative safety of the Daily Planet building. Once he was there he could stop off in the restroom and figure out why everyone was looking at him so strangely.  
  
He pulled the edges of his jacket together in front. He didn't think anything was wrong with his fly, but there were a lot of people looking at him. Enough that his paranoia insisted it was everyone on the street.  
  
It was a relief to reach the Daily Planet building. He showed his employee pass at the security checkpoint and hurried through. It was disconcerting to see the way heads began turning in his direction as he strode swiftly to the men's room.  
  
He rushed to the nearest sink and leaned over it, staring into the mirror. His own face stared back at him looking the same as it always did. His eyes were a bit startled-wide, but there didn't seem to be anything different about him. Why was everyone reacting so strangely?  
  
Clark felt an itch between his shoulder blades and looked past his own shoulder in the mirror. There was a blond haired man standing there, _staring_ at him.  
  
Clark turned, uncomfortable with having his back to him. "Can I help you with something?"  
  
The man--Clark thought he worked in the mailroom--blushed and ducked his head. "No, I... uh." He giggled nervously. "You have a good day, Mr. Kent."  
  
"Thank you." Clark stepped back from the sink, running his hand down the front of his suit jacket. His pants were zipped and there didn't seem to be anything visibly different about him.  
  
Walking to the door, he could feel the man staring after him. It was creepy and odd.  
  
Clark felt uncomfortable in his own skin. Different and strange from the humans all around.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time he made it to his desk, Clark was feeling a bit hunted. He didn't usually draw this amount of attention unless he was being Superman, and then he was usually sure they were staring at his cape. This time everyone was staring at *him*. It made him feel self-conscious of how he held his arms and whose eyes he met too long.

He sat in his office chair and and busied himself with opening his laptop and arranging his desk. He kept his ears open for any mention of his name. He needed to know what was gong on and he was reluctant to ask anyone.

By the time he'd opened his email and perused his first assignment for the day, four people had already walked past his desk closer than necessary. There was enough space that they didn't need to rush against the back of his chair.

He thought he heard them sniffing as they went by. It had him discreetly sniffing his own shoulder to see if he smelled, but everything seemed normal.

There was definitely something happening, but he was the only one unaffected. He spared a thought to hope that his mother was all right. Then he set off to figure out what was going on.

"Jimmy!"

"Yes, Mr. Kent?" Jimmy popped up with his usual amount of enthusiasm. It gave Clark the brief hope that at least one person was acting normal. Then Jimmy took a deep breath and his eyes got even brighter than usual. "What can I do for you?"

Clark leaned away when Jimmy got too close. "Hey Jimmy. I was, uh, wondering if anything was going on today. Everyone's been acting a bit odd. Do you know anything?"

"It's been the same old, same old around here, Mr. Kent." Jimmy was bouncing on his toes, his body weaving forward and back. He suddenly leaned forward, taking a deep sniff. His eyes glazed over and the smile he gave Clark was wide and silly. "Same old thing as every other day."

"Sure," Clark said, trying to ignore the too deep breaths that Jimmy was taking in his direction. It was a bit harder to ignore the way Jimmy was staring at him with beads of sweat forming on his brow and upper lip. "Sure."

"Oh Jimmy, why don't you stop bothering Clark?" Cat Grant stalked across the newsroom, her pencil skirt not hiding the bold sway of her hips. She was the reporter assigned to the fashion and society pages, which meant her makeup was always beautifully applied and she had all of the self-confidence of a young starlet.

She'd flirted with him when they'd first met, but had lost interest when she'd heard a few stories about Smallville and the farm. She'd remained friendly toward him, but the light of the hunt had gone out of her eyes. He'd been relieved to see it go -- Cat was easier to deal with when she wasn't feeling amorous, being funny and smart and an interesting conversationalist.

Now her eyes were practically glowing as she focused her full attention on him. It made him realize that she'd gone easy on him before.

For the moment he wasn't the strongest man on the planet. He was simply afraid.

Not because she could do anything to him, but because of what it all represented. He was at the center of whatever was happening, and it was affecting the minds of of people around him.

Cat Grant had made the conscious decision that she didn't want a romantic relationship with him. Whatever was happening took that choice away somehow.

He couldn't trust that anyone was in control of themself. And it frightened him. Because movies like "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" and "The Puppet Masters" had given him nightmares. Nothing had ever seemed so terrible as being under the control of someone -- some*thing* -- else.

He would have to figure out what was going on and stop it.

Clark drew in a deep breath and stood up. "Hey Cat, I hate to bother you, but do you think you could pass it on to Perry that I had to run out for a while?"

"It's not a bother at all, Clark." The way she drew out his name in a throaty purr made him shift uncomfortably. He'd never heard his name sound like that before. "Should I tell him where you've gone?" sounded more like *'Where are you going'* and *'Should I meet you there?'*

"It's nothing really important." Clark began gathering his things into his briefcase. He would have everything he'd brought to work this morning scanned for suspicious chemicals. "I forgot there was something I needed to do. I'll square it all away with Perry later," he said.

"All right." Cat leaned her hip against his desk and rested her palm against the blotter. That slight lean pasted the front of her blouse against her breasts. He could see the lace ridges of her camisole outlined against the silk.

He coughed. "Well, I better hurry if I want to make it back sometime today."

"All right, you run away then. We'll be waiting for you to get back." Her breasts seemed to swell with the deep breath she took, and her eyes were heavy-lidded and sultry. As he watched, her tongue poked out to moisten her already glossy pink lips.

Clark realized he was sweating. His cock was hot and heavy in his pants, not fully erect but definitely ruining the line of his pants.

*What is wrong with me?* he thought.

He had the urge to run his fingers over the peaks of Cat's breasts and down her stomach. To dip past the petals of protective flesh into the moist heat at the juncture of her legs.

He would thrust his fingers into her while licking and sucking her clit with his mouth. He'd bring her to orgasm once, twice, maybe three times, until she was limp and loose. Then he would slip back up her body and drive his cock into her, one smooth thrust to fully engulf himself within her.

He'd wait until she was clawing his shoulders and begging him to move before he'd begin thrusting for real. He might tease her with shallow thrusts, the tip of his cock brushing inside her, tormenting and arousing them both. And with her permission, he'd rock himself into her, fingers slipping in beside his cock until it was so tight and wet that she *screamed* with pleasure. And as she convulsed around him, he would release his seed deep within her womb, a hot rush of life. And it would feel so *good*, better than any pleasure his hands had ever brought him, better than any fantasy he'd allowed himself to have.

He'd fuck her and take care of her, protecting her from any harm. And when the child was born he'd...

Clark gasped and shook. His whole body felt hot and tight, every bit of him focused toward his throbbing cock where it pressed against his stomach.

*My dick just ripped a hole in my pants.* It was a ridiculous thought, though true. The only thing somewhat protecting his dignity was his suit jacket and he wasn't sure how good of a job it was doing. Not when every eye in the room was focused on him, glazed with lust.

And still he looked at Cat -- fertile and warm -- and his body screamed at him to fuck her. She would be so open and welcome, engulfing his cock with her hungry pussy, swallowing every drop of cum and begging for more.

He could nearly feel her rippling around him, the cries of her pleasure urging him on, to fill her up inside.

It took every ounce of self-control he possessed to turn and walk toward the door. He barely kept from limping, his balls achingly full.

*What is wrong with me?*


	4. Chapter 4

It was a relief to be back in his apartment. Never before had he so clearly understood the idea of being seen as a piece of meat. There'd been so many people eying him on the walk home that he'd felt stripped bare.

The worst thing had been the answering pulse of interest he'd felt toward some of his watchers. It had felt like invisible strings attached to his groin, tugging him toward some of the women (and men). He'd had to force himself to keep moving just to make it home.

Clark paced around his small apartment. He needed to figure out what was happening to him. Things were definitely not the way they were supposed to be.

He tried not to think about his sudden and desperate attraction to Cat Grant. It was a big part of the mystery happening to him, but thinking of her fertile and welcoming flesh gave him a throbbing erection that made him feel dirty and small.

His body's reaction to Cat felt like a betrayal to Lois. Sure, there were no promises between the two of them, but he loved Lois. Whatever he felt for Cat was some fluke of biology.

None of this is real, he thought. His aching balls called him a liar, as did the erection that refused to leave him.

Finally it got to be too much and he gave into the inevitable. Right there on his living room couch, he pushed down his pants and underwear and took himself in hand.

He felt like a kid again, unable to control himself. But it felt desperately good too, his own palm and fingers stroking up and down his heated flesh. There was a ridiculous amount of precum bubbling out of his slit, so much that everything was wet before he even got started. But it felt really good, so good that his breath came in stuttering gasps and he couldn't stop the way his hips flexed and thrust up into his fist.

He bit his lip hard when he came, semen shooting all over his hand and wrist. There were splatters against the front of his shirt, but he didn't care.

The relief of pressure in his balls felt nearly holy. He hadn't even realized how uncomfortable he was until it was gone.  
Clark slumped limply against the couch. He didn't have the wherewithal to clean himself up. He'd get to it later. For now, he closed his eyes and relaxed.

He needed a moment to breathe.

* * *

Unknown to Clark, his scent increased with his ejaculation. The pheromone rich aroma saturated the air within and around his apartment building. Humans in proximity were driven by a sudden lust to breed, animal instincts overwhelming intelligence and sense.

Everywhere that he had walked that day had been marked by arousal. The amount of sex experienced in those geolocations increased by 200%.

It was only the beginning.

* * *

Clark was stepping out of the shower when someone rang the doorbell, following it up with a brisk rap of the knuckles. He wiped his feet on the bathmat and quickly dried himself with a towel before superspeeding into the bedroom to dress in sweatpants and an age softened tee shirt.

He lifted his glasses off the coffee table as he passed through the living room. Once he was sure his "Clark Kent, human" disguise was in place, he opened the door.

Cat Grant smirked at him. "Heya, Clark."

"H-hey." He couldn't help the way his eyes raked down her body: blond hair in tousled waves, form hugging red dress that barely reached mid-thigh, and one hip cocked out like a challenge.

He swallowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, you left so abruptly that I got worried. I felt like I had to check up on you. Make sure that you're still _fine_."

"I'm good. I just had to handle some personal business." He was getting hard again and the air felt hot and close. When he breathed in, he thought he could taste her feminine musk on the back of his tongue. He wanted to put his mouth on her pussy.

"It's a good thing hat you're all right, *Clark*. A *very* good thing." She stared into his eyes as she licked her glossy red lips. Then she very deliberately looked down at his cock. Her nipples pebbled against the front of her dress.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Her voice was husky. Her smile was a dirty promise. "I would love to be part of your _personal_ business, _Clark_."

The logical parts of Clark's brain shut down. It was the hungry animal part that stepped out of the way and waved her in.

"I want to fuck you," he said, a request and a warning. He'd let her leave if she wanted it. Otherwise they were going to his bed.

She kicked the door shut with one stiletto heel. "That's what I'm here for."

*

The next forty-eight hours were a blur of heat and _want_ to his mind. All of those dirty things he had always refrained from doing--trapped in virginity by his fear of his own strength--he did them all. And it was glorious.

He fucked into her welcome heat with a sex-starved madness. Missionary first, then her on her knees, tearing at the pillow with her fists and teeth. She rode his cock for what felt like hours, her cries urging him on, deeper, harder, come on Clark, _do it_.

She seemed to catch his fever of lust. They barely stopped to drink water and eat lunch meat right out of the container. Then his cock was back in its new home--the walls of her pussy rippling and squeezing, trying to keep him in her as he shot load after load of cum into her womb.

He could have licked and sucked on her clit for days. He loved the sounds she made, from the hitching gasps to the sobbing cries of her orgasms as she clenched around his fingers. But his cock demanded that it be in her, his hands fitting perfectly around her hips to hold her still as he fucked into her wet heat. It made him feel powerful and strong. It felt _good_.

*

And then it was over. And he was lying on his back, Cat limply draped across his chest, and he realized what they had done.

 _Oh shit_ , he thought, waiting for the guilt and self-recriminations to start. Only there were none.

His body was humming with satisfaction and the warm musk of her skin was a heady perfume. The bed was a wreck around them, blankets and sheets a lost cause.

And it felt wonderful. Sex was the greatest thing he had ever done.

He wanted more.


End file.
